


We Only Said Goodbye with Words

by RockingItInAParallelUniverse



Series: Songs of The Smiths [1]
Category: The Smiths
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Codependency, Friendship/Love, Gen, I'm Sorry, M/M, Messy, Sexual Confusion, Sexual Content, Therapy, This Is STUPID, Unhealthy Relationships, What Have I Done, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, probably out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingItInAParallelUniverse/pseuds/RockingItInAParallelUniverse
Summary: Johnny seeks help, against his will, from a therapist to deal with the mistakes of his past.





	We Only Said Goodbye with Words

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the late 1990's, post Smiths, post court case, pre Johnny's solo career, post the birth of his children. Total fiction. 
> 
> Inspired by listening to "I Won't Share You" - Strangeways Here We Come - 1987. 
> 
> Title from a line of Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black"
> 
> As someone who tends to slide into codependency, this was a tough one to write. It’s probably why I ship Marrissey so much. Anyhoo, this ain’t my best work but here it is.

This is not what Johnny wanted to do today at all. In fact, this is something Johnny never wanted to do. But his wife, Angie, insisted. She felt that it was high time for Johnny to get help moving past the traumas he sustained during his time in his former band. He tried over and over to reassure her he was past all that. He knew he never wanted to look back at that time. Perhaps he went a bit overboard by storing his guitars in a distant warehouse out of sight and giving some of his most cherished instruments away. Guitars were a thing of the past. He had no desire to play one. He was far more satisfied with keyboards and synthesizers, things which had been prohibited in The Smiths. Truthfully, he received the most satisfaction from helping other bands and musicians rather than producing anything with his name alone on it. But here he was, the ever dutiful husband, on the doorstep of Dr. Matthew Williams, licensed psychotherapist.

He was ushered back to a quiet room as soon as he gave his name to the receptionist. Angie had arranged that his visit would be treated with the utmost discretion and privacy. The room was lit with several floor lamps. The obnoxious overhead fluorescent fixture was blissfully turned off. Thick curtains covered one wall keeping any natural light out. There were several chairs and an overstuffed couch. Johnny thought it might be funny to lay down on it, a way to break the ice. As he contemplated this, he saw two green lava lamps on a large desk to the right of the sofa. What the hell kind of therapy was this going to be?

“Mr. Marr, it is a pleasure to meet you.” A tall, blonde man dressed in gabardine trousers and a casual cream colored jumper entered the room.

Johnny shook the man’s hand, wondering why his wife couldn’t have secured a short shrink. It would make baring his soul a bit more tolerable. “I would say the pleasure is mine, but it’s too early in the appointment for me to make that observation.” 

Oh shit. That sounded like something Morrissey would say. Dr. Williams lets out a low chuckle.

“Before we get started, let me just say that your music helped me survive my teenage years. And it’s an honor to be able to work with you.”

Johnny runs his hand nervously through his hair. Now he just feels old. Great. This guy probably worships Moz. Fuck. All of his gut instincts are telling him to run, to get out of this office and tell Angie to fuck off because he’s fine. 

“Also nothing we discuss will leave this room. This is a safe zone. There is no judgement, no negative repercussions for expressing yourself. Our mission is to help you heal.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Johnny says. His idea of healing is to leave the past in the past where it belongs and to move boldly forward without one glance behind him. “I don’t know how I’m, um, supposed to, um, start. I’m not big into talking about feelings. I like facts and ideas, not emotions.”

“That’s fine. Let me just look at your paperwork here. It says you have difficulty sleeping, have abused alcohol and have given up your lifelong love of the guitar.”

Johnny blanches. “I didn’t fill out any paperwork.”

Dr. Williams smiles. “Your wife filled out a Friends and Family Questionnaire. No need for you to do so. You can just tell me in person.”

Johnny knows he’s fucked now. He pulls at his hair in distress. “I’ve never had normal sleep patterns. It’s part of being a creative and a performer. Rock and roll isn’t exactly a 9 to 5 job, mate.”

“Alright, then. Let’s talk about your alcohol use.”

"I was a kid in my 20's in one of the biggest bands in Britain. Of course, I drank. I smoked, I drank, I did drugs. But I can tell you this, the drinking isn't happening anymore. I just don't enjoy it. I don't think I've had a drop of alcohol in at least 8 months."

"So you gave it up because you don't enjoy it. What changed?"

Johnny really wants to push up the left sleeve of his black jumper and check the time. The appointment is for an hour. Why does it feel like 10 hours already? "I'm in my 30's. I've got children, a family. Alcohol doesn't fit with my life now."

"How old are your children?"

"My son is five and my baby girl is going on 2," he says, proudly. His family is his guiding light. Johnny cannot fathom what it would be like blundering through this stage of life without them. He walks over to the lava lamps and flicks the switches so that the green fluid is illuminated. He wonders how long it will take for the wax to melt so the lava can begin its dance.

"Yet you were drinking up to 8 month ago."

"Like enjoying a pint while watching football or a glass of wine with a nice meal. No big deal. Can we move on to the next topic now?"

"Soon. When would you say your alcohol use peaked?"

"1986," Johnny doesn't even have to think about it. 1986 was definitely the year everything turned to shit.

"So that time is still very immediate in your mind. How much were you drinking then?"

"Shit. Before gigs, after gigs, during rehearsals, on the bus. I liked brandy way too much. But I wouldn't turn down gin, vodka, beer, you name it. I drank more calories than I ate."

"Was this something the band did together?"

"Yes and no." Johnny waits for Dr. Williams to say something, but the stubborn man just sits back in his chair and crosses his legs. Fuck. "After gigs, we all drank. We were hot, thirsty and knackered. Our gigs were so manic. We just fed off the energy and once it was over, it was like jumping out of plane without a parachute. We needed something to make the landing softer."

"And the other times you drank?"

"It made me nicer, more patient. I was starting to get annoyed by it all. The alcohol took the edge off. I guess I drank to avoid being a dick."

"What was so annoying?"

Johnny drops into the cushions of the sofa. "I really don't see the point of rehashing this. It happened a decade ago. That isn't me now. That will never be me again."

Dr. Williams sets down his paper tablet. "Do you enjoy the lava lamps, Mr. Marr?"

"You can call me Johnny. It seems stupid to be formal with someone who wants to know my deepest, darkest secrets," Johnny says, offering an olive branch of good will to the therapist. 

"Alright, Johnny. You can call me Matt. So you like the lamps?"

"Yeah. I do. I like all the shapes the lava creates."

"I will be sure to turn them on in preparation for your next visit." As he says this, a large chunk of wax with jagged edges floats to the top of the liquid.

"Uh, thanks."

"I find patients are a lot like lava lamps. You can see a light shining in them but no substance. After they warm up to therapy, they transform their strict, rigid ideologies into new forms easily. Sometimes the results are quite beautiful."

"You saying I lack substance, Doc?"

"Oh no. Quite the opposite. You are heavy with substance. But it's frozen inside you. It needs some heat to soften, release and transform."

Johnny thinks about this for a few minutes, tumbling the words and the image they create around in his mind. "You think it's painful for the lava to melt? I mean look at that chunk there. Look how sharp those edges are. I bet that would feel like being cut to pieces. And it still looks like a piece of shit."

"What if the weight of the solid wax is crushing the light inside? I'm sure the pain from the melting would be quickly forgotten once is the weight is lifted."

Johnny really wants a cigarette. He is trying to quit, but right now his skin feels prickly and uncomfortable. He thinks he still has a pack stashed in the glove box of his car.

"Do you think you can verbalize what was so annoying about your situation that you had to numb yourself with alcohol?"

"Everybody always needed something from me. It was 'Johnny, can you do this?' 'Johnny, we need to do whatever,' yet no one but me actual did it. I watched my friends wither and shrink no matter how hard I tried to make things right. It was never-ending. The hotel I booked was a shithole, the bus smelled. Why didn't we have more time between gigs? I ordered whole milk instead of skim. We had bloody black tea instead of green. Oh and forget writing new music. Not when the world was going to hell because our security detail was too strict or too lenient or the place we stopped for lunch was too fucking slow and we were running behind schedule."

Johnny felt like he was back on The Queen is Dead tour. So cool and calm on the outside but crumbling on the inside. Was Andy sober or strung out on heroin? And what could he do if he was strung out? Nothing. And Craig looking like an innocent puppy and asking stupid questions. And nailing the guitar parts with insane precision. Andy smiling and joking with Craig, looking far more relaxed than Johnny had seen him except when he was on fucking heroin. Morrissey zoned out reading a book or asleep. Unwilling to talk unless it was to complain about something.

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch that?" Johnny apologizes to the therapist for zoning out completely.

"I was just saying that I believe we are off to a great start. Unfortunately our time is up. Does this day and time work for you? We can just keep it for 9 more sessions."

"Ten weeks of this?" 

"That is the minimum for out-patient therapy. If you wouldn't mind, please consider writing down what had you so lost in thought. As a matter of fact, daily journaling is a great tool for mental health. I would highly encourage you to journal your thoughts. Once we are done, you can burn your journal if you so choose."

Johnny just nods. Out-patient therapy? Thought journals? This is a fucking nightmare. He doesn't care that Angie doesn't want him smoking in the house with the kids. He'll go outside. But there is no way in hell that he is quitting cigarettes in the next ten weeks.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION 2

The lava lamps are on but they're still frozen. Just like him. Johnny wonders if the good doctor programmed the lamps to reflect his patients' progress.

"Johnny, it is good to see you again," Matthew smiles kindly at him. He is wearing khaki trousers and a striped oxford shirt. His blonde bangs are parted to one side and there is a twinkle in his blue eyes, but Johnny is having none of the man's good humor.

"I thought this was supposed to help me sleep better. Last week was the worst bout of insomnia I think I've ever had."

Matthew pulls a prescription pad from his desk. "I'll prescribe a sleeping aid. I want you to take one every night for the next four weeks, then we'll back you off to every other night before discontinuing them altogether."

"Fucking valium?" Johnny doesn't want any part of that. Valium was Moz's cure-all and Johnny watched helplessly as his best friend turned into a zombie before his very eyes.

"Oh no. There are far better medications available now. Unfortunately, any sleep aid can become addictive, which is why I only prescribe them as a short-term remedy."

"I'm not big on taking drugs for this. I like myself. I don't want to turn into someone I'm not because of fucking medication," Johnny can't emphasize this enough and is satisfied when Matthew writes some notes about this on his paper tablet.

"I'll prescribe you two weeks worth. I want you to take one every night. Since you are no longer drinking, I trust I don't have to warn you that mixing this and alcohol is a very bad idea."

Johnny shakes his head in acknowledgement.

"All I want is for you to get 2 weeks of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. It can really change your entire state of being."

"We'll see. I can't remember the last time I've slept 8 hours continuously."

"One final warning before we get started. The sleep aid will temporarily stop you from dreaming. Your mind will literally sleep. But when you discontinue the medication, your dreams will return with a vengeance, which is why I like the gradual, step-down process of stopping the drug. It is imperative that you continue your therapy sessions. I don't want you trapped in a state of vivid nightmares that you cannot control."

"Gee, Doc, that sounds wonderful. I can hardly wait," Johnny says, sarcastically.

Matthew laughs, "It may not happen to you. I just didn't want you to panic if it did or think that it's possible to indefinitely stop your dreams. Ok. Now we were talking about the pressure you faced back in 1986 that led you to start drinking heavily. Was this all tour related or did it continue once the tour was over?"

Johnny takes a deep breath. He hates thinking about the jealousy he felt. He feels guilty about how unfairly he treated Craig during that time. He turned that poor kid into the devil incarnate. And he was good. He had talent. And Johnny practically eviscerated him in front of the rest of the group. Not one of his better moments. "I acted like a twat. I took out my frustrations on people who didn't deserve it. It got it a bit better once the tour was over, but I still did things I'm not proud of afterwards."

"What things?"

"We, well I, hired a kid to play guitar with us. Our bassist wasn't in his best form and I wanted someone who could maybe fill in some of the gaps with rhythm guitar work in case we had to turn down the volume on the bass. I treated the kid badly. I didn't know him, I didn't want to know him and I used him as a scapegoat for all my frustrations. He was a good kid. He didn't deserve that. And then I didn't even bother to tell him I'd fired him. He just learned it through word of mouth. How's that for being a fucking coward?"

"Did you ever make amends with him?"

Johnny looks at his shoes "No. I'm still a fucking coward."

"You need to put that on a "To Do" List. Make a list of those you have wronged. Write their names, the offenses you committed against them and the reparations you would like to offer."

"I can't, mate. I know I've fucked up. I doubt they would ever speak to me again. Shit, I've read the interviews. I know what's being said. You know all about the fucking court case and what a nightmare that was and still is. People still cuss me out on the streets for breaking up The Smiths. There's no undoing all the shit that went down." Johnny says. It gives him a headache. 

"You don't have to do it in one week, or even one year. But you can't change what you don't acknowledge." 

"But I do acknowledge it. I just did."

"You need to acknowledge it to those you have wronged. It doesn't matter if they don't forgive you. It doesn't matter if they tell you to fuck off. It really isn't about them. It's about you unburdening yourself and forgiving yourself. Right now your acknowledgements of your wrongs only serve as a form of self-flagellation. You need to make your peace with it and the only way to do that is to go up to, say, your rhythm guitarist, and tell him the honest to God truth about how you feel about what you did to him."

Johnny glances over to the lava lamps. Ragged chunks of wax are floating at their tops. "You're fucking controlling those lava lamps, aren't you, mate?" he says jokingly, but also sort of sincerely.

Matthew laughs. "It does look that way, doesn't it? But I'm really not. Maybe it's you. Maybe you are in control and just don't realize it."

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION THREE

Matthew is already in the room when Johnny arrives the following week. "How was your sleep?"

Johnny is loathe to admit it, but he feels like a different person. "The pills worked great. I took them an hour before going to bed and then I was out for the night. It is weird waking up and it actually being daylight."

"Feel any difference in your mental state?"

"Yeah. I feel more at peace. At least when I wake up." Until he reads the latest NME article or other snippet of music news. Then it all comes raining down on him once again.

"Keep taking them this week then we will re-evaluate. Everyone deserves some peace."

"Yeah. I guess so." He doesn't know if he or Moz will ever truly experience peace again without pharmaceutical aid. He can't help but feel guilty when he read the reviews of Morrissey's latest album. 'Maladjusted' is right. Who would have ever dreamed that something so wonderful at the time could cause so much pain and destruction.

"That was some meaningful silence. Care to share your thoughts?" Matthew prompts.

"Not really, but I guess I don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Johnny."

"So you'll leave it alone if I say no?"

"My job is to not leave it alone. My job is to open the door and let all the monsters out of the closets in which they hide."

"Then I don't have a choice."

"Do your children have bad dreams sometimes? Do they cry out for you or your wife in the night?'

"Yeah. Sometimes."

"Do they do it during the day?"

"No."

"Do you know why that is?"

"Because they have vivid imaginations and don't understand how the world actually works?"

"We can see the truth in the light of day. We may not like what we see, but it is less terrifying than the unknown."

Johnny stares at Matt. "What are you getting at, mate?"

"Right now, your unspoken thoughts are like shadows in the mist. They aren't fully formed. And you are scared shitless about what they might become."

"No. I'm not scared shitless. All of them are my fault. I feel guilty. I sunk my friends' careers. I sunk my own. I lost two of my best mates. I lost five years of my life that I loved and now I can't stand to think about or talk about because it hurts too fucking much and I've nobody to blame but myself."

"Really? You single-handedly ruined your career?"

"You see how well the new Electronic album is doing, right? And I played guitar on it. Some. But people know I'm in Electronic. They won't buy anything by me since I'm the one who killed The Smiths."

"They bought the first one. And you had four successful years in The The. Did Matt Johnson kick you out because you were a liability?"

Johnny sighs. "No. Matt would never do that. He's a good mate. He'd support me no matter what."

"Then why did you leave after four years?"

"I wanted to try something different. The Electronic thing was taking more time. I felt like I was hiding behind Matt. It was time to move on."

"Were you getting too close?"

"Matt and I are still best mates. We talk all the time and see each other when we're in the same town."

"Johnny, I'm trying to open your eyes, here."

"I don't get what you're playing at."

Matthew shakes his head sadly. "How is your list of wrongs coming along?"

"What?"

"Last week, I told you to make a list of people you have wronged."

"But you said I didn't have to do it in a week or even a year?"

"I meant you didn't have to face the person and acknowledge your wrongs to them right away."

"Shit."

"So let's work on it now. I'll give you 10 minutes to jot down a few names. Then we'll talk about it and see what else we can come up with." Matthew hands him a piece of paper and a pen and then exits the room.

Fuck. Johnny grits his teeth and numbers the paper through 10. 

1\. Morrissey  
2\. Andy  
3\. Mike  
4\. Craig  
5\. Angie  
6\. Stephen Street  
7\. Geoff Travis  
8.Smiths fans across the world  
9\. Johnny Marr  
10.

Matthew re-enters the room with two cups of tea. He glances at Johnny's list. "Perfect!"

"That's all I could think of spur of the moment and all."

"I know exactly where we'll start."

Oh shit. Johnny really doesn't want to face Morrissey. Not with his new album being raked over the coals and the rumors that he threatened to kill Mike in one of the songs. He should have put Craig as number one. Much easier to make amends with someone he barely knows.

"We'll start with number 9."

Johnny sighs. Oh thank God.

"So what did you do to Johnny?"

"I fucked myself over."

"How?"

"Really? You're gonna make me explain how I screwed myself?'

"Yes."

Shit. Johnny thinks about how he started drinking to avoid talking to people. He was so tired of arguing. He was just so tired. "I quit. I broke up the band. I walked away and didn't care about anyone but me."

"Did anyone try to stop you?"

"No," he said, sadly. "It wasn't like they could have even if they had tried."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Because I was done."

"Why were you done?"

Jesus Christ, this is stupid. "I was tired of it all. I couldn't do it anymore. I'd been married a little over a year and we'd never been on a honeymoon. I spent most of my waking hours with the band finishing up the new album. I was trying to appease the label. But it was never going to end. It was never easy. I appreciate hard work. I know what it takes to make it and to do it with integrity. But I didn't want to do cover songs. I didn't want to tour right away. I didn't even want to think about a new album, a new single, nothing. I needed a fucking break. And when I took one, I was treated like a traitor. It was my fucking band! It was me who found Morrissey! It was me who found Andy! It was me who got Rough Trade to listen to our demo. It was me in charge of fucking everything except for my own fucking life!"

Matthew quietly sips his tea. Johnny's eyes are wild. He is flushed with anger. He just wants to beat his head repeatedly on the therapist's desk until unconsciousness overtakes him.

"It sounds like leaving the band was the best thing you could have done."

"Pardon?"

"Leaving the group wasn't how you wronged yourself."

Johnny stares blankly at Matthew.

"You wronged yourself by letting it get to the point where leaving was your only option."

"What was I supposed to do? Not manage the band? Not produce our music? Not get married?"

"Yes."

"What?!"

"The way I see it, you failed to establish boundaries up front."

"I was 18 years old!"

"I'm not the one beating myself up over youthful mistakes."

He did have a point. "Go on, then."

"As I was saying, you failed to establish boundaries up front. We are going to perform a relationship autopsy. The facts lie in the body of the band. No changes can be made now. But what could have been done to turn the tide of the disease before it was too late? You need a full understanding of what went wrong before you can move on and bury this corpse."

"Lovely imagery."

"Should I write a song?" Both men laugh at that. "Your assignment for next week is a written report of your findings. Try to remove yourself as the main cause of death. Other factors were at play. The death of your band was the inevitable end because of what? That is your mission."

Johnny has nothing to add at this point. He stares at the lava lamps. The large chunks of wax are breaking down. A small teardrop drips from the formless blob. It begins falling, turning into a ball. Then it rises once more through the green liquid. It collides with the mass at the top and ricochets away.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION FOUR

The last weekend was hideous. Johnny found himself glaring at Angie, snapping at his son, just all over in a foul mood because of Matthew's assignment for him. He didn't want to think about The Smiths. It was getting to the point that he wished he'd never started the fucking band. The old days caused him nothing but guilt and misery here in the present. Now to have to wade through all the stress, heartbreak, anger, disappointment and sadness and create a report on it seemed too much to bear.

But here he was, typing up a fucking report on his computer:

Autopsy of The Smiths

Best Solution to avoid what happened: Never approach Steven Morrissey

Johnny knows this will not satisfy Matthew but he enjoys seeing it in cold, black typeface in front of him anyhow.

The first thing that should have happened was begging Joe Moss to keep managing the band. Maybe if Johnny had stood up to Moz the first time he started grumbling about managers, things wouldn't have gone so far off the tracks. A manager would have known how to draw up a proper contract. He would have known when it was time to change said contract about royalties. When they first signed with Rough Trade, they weren't even sure if the lineup would be permanent. And they didn't know if there would be any royalties to be had. It all seemed so far-fetched that they would become so large so quickly. So good management from the start was definitely needed.

Then there was their insane work ethic and drive. He and Mozzer should have taken breaks from each other regularly. Breaks from songwriting, rehearsing, and just hanging out. But in the beginning, it was such a joy. Such a relief almost to have someone who felt the same passion and determination to succeed. They were best mates. Oh, let's face it. They were more than best mates. Again, lines had blurred, boundaries never designated, Johnny refused to define his relationship with Morrissey to anyone. They just were. Looking back, he knows this was a mistake. But any form of keeping Morrissey at a safe distance would have hurt his partner. Mozzer was so lonely and insecure. It was insane how someone so full of opinions, ideas, and pure stubbornness could be hurt so easily. Impossible situation.

All band communication should have been handled more professionally, or at least been written down. That would have prevented this entire legal disaster. Everyone could have seen how things were divided clearly. But, oh no. Morrissey communicated in phone calls, whispers and post it notes. Johnny wasn't any better. They were young and stupid. And now, not only did Johnny and Moz have to pay Mike, the drummer 25% royalties, but they had to make back payments, as well. But Andy, his one time best-mate and talented bass player, got a measly portion because he settled out of court. Gentle Andy who never wanted to stir up trouble, who just wanted to be a part of things but not the center of attention, who tried to overcome his anxiety with drugs and needles. Andy blew through his portion and had to file bankruptcy. And Johnny let him suffer. He didn't try to make amends. No, he only paid Mike because he was forced to by the court. He should have gone to Andy right after the ruling and thrown himself at his feet, begging for forgiveness and offered to pay him back as well. But Johnny didn't do that. He wanted the money for his own family, to finance his own hopes and dreams. So he carried the guilt of hanging a good friend out to dry financially and the guilt of betraying Mozzer because Johnny hadn't joined him in an appeal against the ruling. 

He turns his report over to Matthew and paces back and forth in front of the lava lamps.

"So all future bands that you're in have to have a manager?"

"Yeah. Actually, I don't care, really, as long as I'm just a member, just part of the band. As long as I'm not in any kind of leadership role, I'm good. I do work as a producer for some groups, but then I am not also a member. Featured artist, maybe. But I'll never again be lead guitarist/band manager."

"I've read about your work ethic, Johnny. That doesn't seem to have changed."

"No, it hasn't while I'm working. The other groups I've worked with aren't like The Smiths. There's more time between working on an album and touring. It's a good thing. And if I feel like the creativity has run its course, I just leave. No tension. Just, sorry, guys I'm all out of ideas. See ya."

Matthew is busy writing notes on Johnny's report. Johnny takes this time to sit down and close his eyes. So far, so good. They haven't covered anything too uncomfortable.

"So you and Morrissey split your duties by him being the lyricist/singer and you musical composer/guitars ?"

"Yeah. Pretty much. Which would have been fine if I wasn't also the manager."

"What extra things do Morrissey take care of?"

"Extra things? You mean like sleeve artwork and design? He did that. He was in charge of marketing our image. He dealt with photographers and journalists, for the most part. At first, we really enjoyed all the publicity and attention. But then it got to be overwhelming for Morrissey. We all felt protective of him."

"How were you all protective?"

"Moz loved the attention on stage. But after the gigs, he needed peace and quiet. So the rest of us would kind of run interference. We would meet with fans at the bar or yell out the windows of hotels, or go down to the lobby while Morrissey rested. It added to his mystique."

"What about press interviews?"

"Just like everything else, at first he handled them great, but toward the end he'd cancel or wouldn't show and then I'd have to take his place."

"Was that a burden?"

"Not really. As long as we stayed on the topic of music, I could talk all day. I always backed up Morrissey. We needed to have a united front and I wouldn't dream of contradicting him during an interview."

"Did he do the same for you?"

"Well I usually wasn't interviewed without him unless it was by a guitar magazine or something like that and he sure couldn't have filled in for me on that topic! But he always stood up for me in the press during The Smith's lifetime."

"You list your closeness with Morrissey as a mistake. Why?"

Johnny's stomach churns in response to this question. "It just became so complicated. Any kind of disagreement or difference of opinion felt like a personal attack. We both felt that way. Looking back on it now, no two people are ever going to agree on absolutely everything. It should have been normal. But to us, it wasn't."

"I'm going to give you some literature to read over the week. I also want to keep you on the sleep aid for another two weeks. We are about to begin some heavy digging and you will need to be able to turn off your brain for rest."

Johnny's palms are sweating as he takes the book from Matthew. 'Beyond Codependency'. Looks like another fun week ahead.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION FIVE

"I'm not sure why you had me read this book," is the first thing out of Johnny's mouth.

"You didn't recognize any similarities between the subject matter and yourself?"

"I'm sure anyone could find something in common with it. But this book makes it sound like some kind of evil conspiracy between us. That we were out to get each other. It wasn't like that at all."

Matthew hands Johnny a paper. '8 Signs of a codependent relationship' 

1\. Having difficulty making decisions in a relationship  
2\. Having difficulty identifying your feelings  
3\. Having difficulty communicating in a relationship  
4\. Valuing the approval of others more than valuing yourself  
5\. Lacking trust in yourself and having poor self-esteem  
6\. Having fears of abandonment or obsessive need for approval  
7\. Having an unhealthy dependence on relationships, even at your own cost  
8\. Having an exaggerated sense of responsibility for the actions of others

Well, shit. Between the two of them, Johnny knows that he and Morrissey could check off every box.

"Codependency does not necessarily make one or both partners evil, Johnny."

"Ok. So if I do admit that, yeah, it was a codependent relationship, so what? It's over."

"Is it?"

Johnny thinks about Morrissey every day. He misses him. He misses his sly humor, his passion for music, the sound of his voice. He doesn't miss the melodrama, the veiled threats and the guilt.

"We haven't spoken since the court case."

"How do you remember him?"

"As a funny, great mate that was also annoying as hell. He was a challenge. He tried so hard to keep me at a distance and I tried just as hard to break down his walls."

"I read an interview from him where he said he'd be at your door if you called him up and wanted to work together again."

Johnny's eyes flare with anger. "That's just it. I don't want to work with him again. I would end up hating him and possibly hurting myself and my family. I won't invite that kind of dynamic into my life ever again. I think there is such a thing as being too involved. Maybe it is the codependency. Maybe that's exactly it. Even though I didn't have a name for it, I knew it was unhealthy, for both of us. I just wish we could still be friends. I would love to spend time with him without the pressures of being in a group together. Just be mates."

Matthew takes a few notes and then begins to speak, but Johnny can't hear what he is saying. Johnny is far away in another time and place. His heart aches. He left a piece of himself with Morrissey and he can feel the emptiness inside where it is missing. He chokes back a sob. 'I love him' Johnny thinks to himself. Fuck. He loves Mozza in every way possible. It tears Johnny to shreds. It's wrong on so many levels. It's also confusing. He knows without a doubt that Angie is his soul mate. From the first time he saw her at age 15, he knew it. They have a great relationship. That's why he is here in this office. As much as Johnny did not want to dredge up all this baggage, he agreed because he knows Angie has his best interests at heart and she would never do anything to hurt him. He owes it to her. 

The office is completely quiet. Johnny flushes with embarrassment."Sorry, doc. I just sort of zoned out for that last part."

Matthew smiles kindly and hands Johnny a prescription. "We are reducing your sleeping aids. Take one every other night. Make you sure you keep a journal by your bed. You will need to write down your dreams. Remember, they will be vivid and possibly disturbing. This is completely normal. You will need to work through them."

The lava lamps are dancing. The wax is molten and flowing through the green liquid. Johnny is halfway through therapy. He is hopeful that he may just survive it.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION SIX

His journal is bit worse for wear. Johnny can't believe he cried that much while writing about his dream. Vivid and disturbing is an understatement.

He dreamed he was back in The Smiths. He and Morrissey went off to a residential studio by themselves. This should have clued him in that this was only a dream. They would have never done such a thing. Not only would it lead to rumors about their relationship, but it would have been utterly pointless without their bandmates. But dreams go where reality cannot. They would start each day wrapped in each other's arms, naked in a warm, soft bed. The warmth was tangible. Not only was his body content, but so was his heart. Another red flag right there. Johnny doesn't worry about the state of his heart, romantically in real life. He doesn't have too. But the peace in this dream was overwhelming. Everything felt right. Mozzer's blue eyes looked at him with love and appreciation and he couldn't help but feel like he was the luckiest man in the world. They would kiss as if their lives depended on how close they could be to each other and how much passion they could generate. Johnny was bent with desire. He would straddle Moz's thigh as their tongues caressed each other, his cock would leave a trail of slick want down Morrissey's leg. The older man would whimper and call out. "Oh, Johnny. I've missed you. I've missed you so much" and he would roll them over so he could cover Johnny's smaller frame with his own. 

"Oh, Christ, Mozzer. I've missed you, too. I've missed this. Oh, God!" he would moan as Morrissey would nudge his entrance with his own throbbing erection.

And then Johnny would awaken, hard and needy and stare at the sleeping form of his beautiful wife. Why? Why can't he be satisfied with what he has? He loves Angie. He loves his life with her and their family. Why does he have to love a man, as well? What is wrong with him? 

"I'm guessing that you had some pretty intense dreams then?" Matthew says, glancing at the warped, damp journal clutched in his hands.

"You could say that," Johnny is embarrassed and sad and just emotionally distraught.

"Do you want to tell me or would you prefer if I read the journal?"

Shit. Either way, it will be mortifying and humiliating. "Here. Read it." That should buy Johnny a little bit more time before he is forced to admit something he wishes never happened, didn't exist, was a huge mistake, and the most exciting and incredible experience of his life.

"I'm not surprised by this dream, Johnny," Matthew says, reassuringly. 

The blood drains from Johnny's face. Were they that obvious during their relationship? 

"Sexual dreams usually represent intimacy in a relationship. Not necessarily sexual intimacy, but a deep, platonic intimacy. And from our previous sessions, you and Morrissey shared that in spades. Because your dreams were suppressed from the medication, your subconscious provided you with vivid details about being as close to another person as we can humanly get. To me, this dream looks like you desperately miss the bond you shared with Morrissey and he knew you in a way that no one else does."

Johnny can't look at Matthew. The doctor's interpretation sounds very accurate. It does make sense that he misses that connection with Moz. But it doesn't take into account that they did have a physical relationship, a real one, and that he was the one who had initiated it. He shakily tells his therapist the truth.

Matthew pushes a box of tissues across his desk to Johnny who is now sobbing out of control. Not only does he miss his partner, he is wracked with guilt over cheating on his wife. He worries that he is pretending to be something he is not. But which is it? A straight man in a loving monogamous relationship? A closeted gay man living a lie? A confused bisexual who wants it all? "I don't know what to do, doc" Johnny cries out. "I've made my choice. I love Angie and the kids. They are the best thing in my life. But I miss him. Oh, God, I miss him."

Softly, Matthew begins to speak. "You are grieving, Johnny. It's ok to let yourself grieve. It's no different than a death. Actually, I'd say this can be more difficult than a death because your loved one is still very much here and going through his life without you and very publicly, I might add."

"I never meant for it to go that far. I, I never meant to hurt anyone. Every time I pick up a guitar and play something that even remotely sounds like a Smiths' song, I feel sick."

"Let's work out a plan to move forward. You said you were more of an idea person than an emotional one. But you do have to acknowledge and move through your emotions to be able to properly process everything. First, I want you to focus on your relationship with Morrissey. Write it down. Again, you can burn the evidence once you've processed everything. Don't burn anything without my permission, though!"

Johnny allows himself to smile at that. 

"The next step is the hard one. Have you come clean to your wife about the extent of this relationship?"

The smile vanishes. "No. I didn't want her involved. I tried to keep her separate from this."

"And that worked well, right?"

"Yeah. Well. Shit. I don't want to lose her. She is the most important person in my life. I can't lose her."

"If you don't tell her the truth, you are dooming your marriage. It will come out. So you need to be the one in control of the truth. We can work through the aftermath in some couples sessions if we need to. But you can't lie to her any more or yourself, for that matter. "

Johnny knows the truth when he hears it. Angie deserves the truth. He is the one who broke his wedding vows. Lying by omission will not change that fact.

"Then you will need to ask Morrissey for forgiveness."

"So you're telling me that I need to beg Moz for forgiveness after I've told my wife that I cheated on her with him? What the actual fuck?"

"You don't have to see him in person. You can write him a letter. Remember our discussion about your list of wrongs? This is about you, not him. You need to be accountable for your actions. Take responsibility for the messes you have made. That is the only way you will be able to regain your credibility to yourself. Process the relationship first. I can help you with dealing with your wife after that."

Everything sounds just horrible. Johnny knows his life is on the brink of changing forever. But if he ever wants to be the man he claims to be; an honest, caring man of integrity, he has no choice but to follow Matthew's directions.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION SEVEN

"You know what your problem is, John Martin Maher," Morrissey says with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"No, but I'm sure Steven Patrick Morrissey will tell me," Johnny responds playfully. The moments when they are alone are precious few, unlike the early days of The Smiths. Johnny can't help but feel like he squandered those days by not acting on the attraction and allure of the older man now lying beside him.

"You equate love with sex."

"Are you complaining?" Johnny says, running his hand lightly up and down Moz's thigh. 

Morrissey gently cups the smaller man's face and kisses him until Johnny opens his mouth to allow Moz's tongue entry. When they break contact for air, Morrissey gazes with absolute fondness at Johnny's flushed face and swollen lips. "I didn't dare to imagine this. But I loved you from the first day we met. I would love you even without anything sexual. But I don't think you could do the same."

Johnny is confused. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"I know you don't. That proves my point."

Johnny closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his face. He is recalling that conversation with Morrissey more than 10 years later. He took to the woods at a nearby park to write in this journal about those times so long ago yet still amazingly fresh in his memories. Moz was right about so many things. But Johnny, ever the impatient optimist, threw caution to the wind. Once he was certain of Morrissey's feelings for him, there was no stopping the course of their relationship. He knew Moz had suffered cruelly in love. Their songs were cold, hard evidence of this. But their songs also brought to light the ache of their unconsummated union. Their flirtation on stage, dancing without a care to 'Barbarism Begins at Home', brushing against each other during 'Hand In Glove', Johnny wanted this man. And there was nothing to stop them. Johnny conveniently compartmentalized his relationship with Angie as an entity separate and distinct from his relationship with Morrissey. And Moz was absolutely correct that Johnny could not love him completely without showing him physically.

He never dreamed that love could bring such regret and pain. Shit. He should have listened to Moz's lyrics as cautionary tales. Johnny was filled with guilt when he was with Angie. But still he told himself being with Moz was ok because it was part of being in the group. Their love ignited the passion and creativity of their music. You could not have one without the other. Then Morrissey began to demand more of Johnny and Johnny submitted to it, trying to accommodate his every whim and desire to make up for the fact that he spent every night in the arms of his girlfriend while Moz slept alone. Then Angie wanted a stronger commitment. And he gave her what she wanted. Morrissey agreed to be his best man! How could Johnny have been so cruel? So he tried desperately to be what Angie wanted and to be what Morrissey wanted. He lost himself. He didn't know who the hell he was anymore. He had the sneaking suspicion that he was an asshole. Johnny Marr never wanted to be a philandering, lying, manipulative person but that was exactly what he'd become because he was a fucking coward. And now it was time to face all the pain and chaos he had caused.

Matthew reads his account of his relationship with Morrissey. 

"This is definitely codependent. You cannot right all the wrongs done to someone else by someone else."

"No shit."

"You cannot give your power away to other people."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do. You don't want anyone to think bad of you. And when they do, you think you deserve it. Don't you question these people who say your musical life is over because you quit a band?"

Johnny chews on an unlit cigarette. "What if I agree with them?"

"Johnny. You don't mean that. You wouldn't be doing all of these collaborations if you believed it. Let yourself be a musician. Hold your head up. You don't have to tear anyone down to build yourself up."

So many wrongs, Johnny thinks. His first song from Electronic comes to mind. He and Bernard had skewered Morrissey in it. Now he knows that was his anger stage of grief. 'However I look it's clear to see that I love you more than you love me'. He did that because he thought 'Suedehead' was about him. 'It was a good lay' indeed. 

"How do I get past thinking I deserve all kinds of badness and shit because of what I've done. I'm just waiting for karma to kick my arse."

"You are human. You aren't perfect. You never will be perfect. Stop trying to be perfect. It is a waste of time and energy. Now let's move on to asking your wife for forgiveness."

"Alright," he says, brushing what might be a tear from his right eye.

"However you choose to do this, in person or a written note, be prepared to suffer her wrath. Do not try to justify your actions. Here is your chance to experience karma. Confess and listen to your wife. Let her talk. Let her get all of her emotions out. It is the least you can do after betraying her trust."

Johnny sighs and deflates. He prepares himself for the confrontation that will occur tonight once the kids are asleep. Even with the fear of losing Angie, he feels stronger than he has in a long, long time. At least he is no longer a coward. Whatever happens, it is his fault and this is one step toward reclaiming his self-respect.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Angie is crying. Johnny does not try to comfort her. How can he when he is the one who inflicted the pain on her in the first place?

"Come here, please," she says without looking at him.

Slowly, he approaches her. He flinches as she launches herself into his arms.

"I don't understand?' he questions. He can't bring himself to hug her. Surely he is misunderstanding her actions.

"I've known all along," she says into his shoulder. "I fucking knew it! I've been waiting for you to admit it. I married you knowing that I wasn't the only one in love with you. I had hoped that I had married a man who would grow up to become honest. I didn't know if you would ever be that man, but I had hope."

Johnny feels his heart breaking to pieces in his chest. "Please forgive me. I know I was wrong and what I did hurt all of us. I'm so sorry. I love you and only you."

Angie places a finger over his lips. "Don't lie to me. It's ok to love, to open your heart to other people. It's not ok to fuck anyone else." She raises her head from his chest and locks her gaze onto his face. "You got that? Because you won't ever do that to me again. I will not put up with that ever again."

"Absolutely. Absolutely.."and then Johnny loses it and just sobs into his wife's long, dark hair.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION EIGHT

Johnny watches the shapeless wax bob up and down in the lava lamps. He can relate. The therapy has been transformative. He just isn't sure what his final form will end up looking like. He feels like the light bulb in the lamps. The weight of the wax has lifted since he confessed to Angie. Angie. Beautiful, smart, strong Angie. He knows he doesn't deserve her and yet she still chooses him over all other men. It is a huge relief not to have that guilt hanging over their relationship. But now it's time to deal with the other part of this disastrous affair. Johnny glances at his watch wondering where Matthew is. He knows he needs help with his apology to Morrissey. Damn. He still feels a stabbing pain in his heart thinking about the older, blue-eyed singer.

"Sorry I'm late. Had to deal with an emergency," Matthew says, rushing into the office.

"A mental health emergency?" 

"Yes. It does happen. You have my card, right? That's why I give them out. So how did it go with your wife?"

"Surprisingly well. She told me she knew what was going on even before she married me which really makes me feel like shit, but it's all out in the open now, so I guess that's good."

"She didn't throw you out of the house?"

"No. It was almost like she was proud of me which really made me feel terrible. Shit. How bad a person are you when your wife is proud that you confessed cheating on her?"

"You just confirmed her belief that you really are an honest man."

"Yeah, I guess."

"So now on to Morrissey."

"Yeah," Johnny is filled with dread.

"I want you to spend the next two weeks formulating a letter. Really study on it. This is the biggest part of your past that needs to be processed.I want you to write down all your thoughts and regrets and really unload your emotional baggage. I know it will not be easy, but you need to face the emotions in the light of day so they won't control you."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION NINE

Matthew is upset that Johnny hasn't started writing his letter to Morrissey.

"We only have one more session. If you want my help with this, your time is running out."

"That's the thing, doc. I think this is something I have to do on my own."

"I just don't want you to say something that will damage you further."

Johnny doesn't look at Matthew. Instead he watches the lava lamps. He can't really explain to the good doctor why he feels so strongly that his apology to Morrissey should be between him and Mozzer, only. It's not shame. He's already over the shame. Maybe it's his protective instincts kicking in. Morrissey is a highly private person. It just doesn't feel right to Johnny that someone else should have proofread something so personal. It feels inauthentic.

"I want to thank you for everything," Johnny says, shaking the good doctor's hand. "I can't believe how different I feel. I actually brought home two of my guitars."

Matthew smiles warmly. "It was my pleasure working with you. This is the best part of my job, when someone can see the difference between healthy and unhealthy thoughts and actions. But no goodbyes, yet. We still have one more session to go. Bring your journals. We can have a bonfire."

"I think I'd like to keep them, actually. I feel like I might need them later." Johnny smiles, then. "We can still have a bonfire, but we can roast marshmallows instead of words."

"Sounds like a plan."  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

SESSION TEN

Johnny and Matthew do not hold a bonfire. They make plans for the future, Johnny's future. He now has an outline for making amends with Craig and Andy and even Mike, although Johnny is not sure if he'll ever really want to apologize to Mike. The court case is still too bitter and fresh. But he's excited about the other two, especially Andy. He has missed his old schoolmate for far too long. He has written his letter for Moz. He does not show it to Matthew. It is still a work in progress, but Johnny thinks it is almost ready to be sent. He does not expect to receive a reply.

Steven,

Please don't dump this letter in the bin, even though I used your given name. What I have to say is serious and important. Too important to address to a nickname.

You were right about so many things during our relationship. I'm sure you are not surprised by this. You've never doubted your brilliance. It's one of the things that drew me to you. I've been missing you something awful lately. I follow your career through the magazines. I am not being patronizing when I say I'm really proud of you. You've achieved more on your own than we ever did together. I'm still coming to terms with The Smiths. I am trying to be proud of our music, but sometimes I feel like those songs are a slap in my face. Just a reminder that I achieved my success before the age of 24 with you at my side. Sometimes I feel like our time together is a ghost haunting me and I don't think I'm strong enough to produce anything as quality on my own. And I know it is all my fault that our time ended. I was the one who left.

I am so very sorry for how I did that. You deserved a better explanation. I made a lot of mistakes and there isn't anything I can do to change what happened in the past. It was wrong of me to pursue you beyond our songwriting partnership. I should never have crossed that line with you when I was already involved with Angie. That wasn't fair to either of you. I'm sorry I did that to all of us, but I can't regret our time together. I loved you then and I love you now. I left because I no longer loved myself. I should have acted more like you, Moz. I should have loved you with mind and spirit, not body. You were so strong, claiming for all the world that you were celibate because you were attracted to people who could never love you back. You were right and I was wrong. At the time, I blamed you for acting vengeful, blamed the band for being unmanageable, blamed everyone but me. It wasn't your fault, Moz. It was mine. I am so sorry.

All the tension and misunderstandings of our last year together as a band, I get it now. I put you in a situation that you never wanted to be in. I was selfish and needy and arrogant. I'm so sorry that I hurt you like that. You are a good man, a private man, a passionate man. And I took advantage of all of those qualities. I thought it was ok for me to do that because I was acting out of love.That somehow loving you was doing you a favor. I hope you can find it in your soul to forgive me. I'm sorry for being such a dick. I was young and stupid. I did confess everything to Angie. I'm tired of being a coward. I solemnly swear that from now on, when anyone interviews me and asks me about you, I'll be honest and not petty. I will tell them that I loved you, we were best mates and we had an amazing run together. But we just could not keep up that pace. It was too much and time for us to go our separate ways. If you ever want to catch up, talk, text, whatever, I'm enclosing my mobile number and email address. I don't expect you to take me up on that offer, but I miss you. I just wanted you to know that I still think of you, your humor still brings a smile to my face and I am devastated to have caused you pain. Again, I am sorry.

Love you always,  
Johnny

**Author's Note:**

> This is a convoluted mess. It was supposed to be poignant and angsty. But it just became long and meh. Then I just wanted it to end. Probably should have been a multi-chapter story. My brain is a scary place. I really need to get a life. I really hate the end. Ugh. Sorry this is such crap.


End file.
